Chance Encounters
by BarnumOnTheBrain
Summary: Haymitch and Effie first meet at a party in the Capitol, before she is his escort, before he is her mentor - before they are forced to be partners. Instantly, they hit it off, but as they say, the course of true love never did run smooth. A whole lot of Hayffie about to come your way.
1. Chapter 1

**This may be a long fic, with numerous chapters, depending on how this pilot goes. I hope you enjoy! Rated T for later chapters.**

It was another night, another event. Haymitch didn't see why the Capitol liked to parade him at all their fancy parties during the Victory Tour, especially when it meant carting him out all the way to the heart of Panem itself, but he wasn't going to complain that much. There was an open bar, and all of his few friends would be there, so he would go quietly enough. Plus it was a chance to meet the new escort for District Twelve in the Games next year – the last Escort had been promoted to District Eight – and he was yet to know who the replacement was.

The party was in full swing when Haymitch finally arrived, the edges of reality already blurred by alcohol, and people all around him were greeting him merrily, clapping him on the shoulder and complimenting him on his suit. He batted them all away good-naturedly – sure, they were all idiots who supported – no, _enjoyed_ – watching Hell on Earth but they had never really known any different. If anything, he could hate their parents for letting them grow up that way. Most of them were pleasant enough anyway, and he had not had to pay for a drink at a party yet.

The room was magnificent – the President had willingly given up his ballroom for the night for the victor's party, and anyone and everyone involved in the Hunger Games in any way was invited. There were past mentors, present stylists, prep teams, junior assistants to the Gamesmakers, caterers, esteemed guests, politicians, the list was endless. They all laughed and danced together under the high ceiling of the elaborate hall and the sound of the clinking glasses and swing band made Haymitch feel sick. All this extravagance while his people back home starved.

After walking through the throng, say hello to people here and there as they grabbed his arm or slung arms around his shoulders, he made his way to the open bar. He had scarcely been slumped on the barstool for a minute before he felt a hand clap his back.

"Didn't take you long," came a deep chuckle from behind him. "Mind if I pull up a stool?"

Haymitch grunted a reply and took a large swig of liquor. "How are you Chaff?" he asked after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The large man sat beside him was dark-skinned, bald and grinning. His suit looked well-pressed and his tie looked as if someone else had fixed it – Chaff's shaking hands could do delicate tasks as well as Haymitch's could.

"I'm not bad. Wiggled out of mentoring the last Games so that's always a plus. Don't know why they wanted me here really," he replied and tried to get the attention of the bartender that was scuttling about, trying to please the surrounded bar.

"You're a familiar face, the crowd loves you," Haymitch said sullenly. "Especially the women."

"No need to sound so bitter!" Chaff's booming laugh startled a few of the Capitol citizens that stood near them, but as soon as they saw who it was they just grinned back at him. Chaff had been a mentor for nearly as long as Haymitch and was loved just as much by the crowds as he was, if not, more. Over the years, as Hamytich had fallen more and more into alcohol, his appeal had lessened somewhat, but Chaff remained as charming and witty as ever. The crowds could hardly tell that he, too, had turned to the bottle, but Haymitch knew all too well. Many a time had they fallen into unconsciousness with each other and woken up to a hangover from Hell. No matter how ahrd they tried, they couldn't ever get away from Hell.

As if on cue, a pair of women appeared next to them. One was tall, elegant and with purple-tinted skin, draped in what looked like just a thin veil of silk over her slender body. The other woman was short, but tried to cover this up with what looked like four-inch heels and a tall wig of green curls. Her blue eyes were piercing under her long (and probably false) eyelashes.

"Chaff!" the taller one exclaimed, pulling him in to kiss both his cheeks. "Where have you been, my love?" Her voice was high-pitched, tinkling, fake. Everything about her screamed fake, from her prune-coloured skin to the matching eyes to the enormous breasts that were barely covered by the material she was clearly trying to pull off as a dress.

Chaff laughed and took her hands into his, sounding just as fake as she did. "Oh Prya! I'm sorry, my darling, I've just been away. Have you missed me?"

Haymitch snorted as the woman fawned over him, batting away his apologies and kissing him again. It was really quite grotesque.

The woman stood next to Pryas cleared her throat delicately and Haymitch looked at her again over his glass of brandy. Short. Covered in white powder. Dress covering every inch of skin from her neck down to her wrists and dropping straight to the floor. Elaborate. Fake. It was a shame; she looked as if she might have been attractive if she hadn't been smothered by the Capitol. She caught his gaze as he looked her up and down and she raised an eyebrow. Apparently she was as impressed by him as her was her.

"Oh of course, sorry darling!" the woman Prya exclaimed, linking her arm through Chaff's and pulling forwards the other woman. "Haymitch, Chaff, this is EffieTrinket. She's hoping to get a position as an escort for the next Games, isn't that exciting?"

"Sounds thrilling," Haymitch replied dryly.

"Lovely to meet you, Chaff, Haymitch," the woman called Effie said politely, smiling at Chaff and grimacing at Haymitch. He snorted again and finished the rest of his drink.

"And what District are you hoping for, sweetheart?" he asked her unkindly. "Maybe District 4? This year's winner of Finnick Odair from there seems to have caused somewhat of a stir. Or District 1 perhaps? I hear they make some lovely bits of jewellery that you could make yourself pretty with."

Chaff cleared his throat as Haymitch's tone grew more and more poisonous. "Haymitch," he said in a warning voice as Effie's face fell.

"Actually I was hoping for 12 or 11," she said in a quiet voice. "At least to start with."

"and why would you want us?" Haymitch asked bitterly.

"Because I come from such luxury, I'd like to see where everything I have comes from, back to the very basic things such as coal. I'd like to be able to learn and appreciate it," she said, not aggressively.

Prya tutted. "Oh Effie, why would you want that? I still think you're mad for wanting the coal district; it'll just be dirty and full of tributes that stand no chance in the Games."

Haymitch banged his hand on the bar, glaring at her. "That's right," he snarled, "no chance. No chance in the Games, they're all doomed to die. Remind me some more, please, of how I have to see my children die at the hand of the Capitol every single year!"

"Haymitch, quieten down, you're getting looks," Chaff warned him, laying a hand on his wrist. "Remember, you still have something to lose in your friends."

Haymitch took a deep breath as Prya dragged Chaff away, muttering something about 'mad old dog' as he ordered another drink. "And can I get something for you, Mrs Trinket?" he asked the woman who stood, looking slightly awkwardly, next to him.

"It's 'miss'," she corrected him. "No Mister Trinket, unless you count my father, and he's dead anyway," she laughed nervously. Haymitch looked at her. Odd. She seemed a little odd. Or maybe she was just nervous. He didn't blame her – he'd be nervous if he'd been left with a drunk man he had only just met.

"That's… good to know?" he said, unsure if that was a fit reply. She gave him a shy smile and took the drink he handed her.

"So are you enjoying this party?" she asked him after taking a rather large gulp of the strong alcohol.

"I've been to better," he replied. The crowd around him had grown as people jostled to get drinks and it was getting too loud for his liking. He gestured to her to walk with him, holding out his arm. He knew how women liked to feel like they were being treated like ladies. She took it, letting her hand rest on his bare forearm, his jacket slung over his other shoulder. They walked slowly around the edge of the room, making small talk. Thus far, Haymitch liked his Effie Trinket. Sure, she was a Capitol fluffball, but there seemed to be some sort of substance to her. She liked art, literature and the science of the Earth. She liked to know how and why things worked, although, she admitted, she had never really been very good in school. In the Capitol, you don't need to know things such as physics or chemistry – that kind of thing is left up to the Districts. The things you need in the Capitol to survive are economical skills, business skills, enthusiasm for retail. But never think about politics. Haymitch could tell from the bitterness in her voice that Effie had once cared for politics, but her parents had refused to allow her anywhere near the discipline. She probably didn't realise that her parents' decision probably saved her life. Political opponents of Snow didn't last long in Panem.

As the alcohol began to leave his system, Haymitch began to notice little things about her. How her eyebrows came together slightly whenever she asked a question, the way her eyes caught the light when they widened, how she licked her lips just before she spoke. He was beginning to quite like his companion for the evening.

Just as they were making their way back to the bar, the band took up a slow song, heavy with the string bass and soft female voice. Effie stopped for a moment, looking out over the dancefloor that was now filled with couples holding on tight to one another. Haymitch saw her shoulders droop as she stood alone.

Before he knew what hew as going, he took her hand in his. "Care to dance?"

Haymitch didn't usually did. Once upon a time he did, but that was so many years ago he could barely remember. But there was something about this Effie girl. Underneath that Capitol coating, there was a real woman. And he was overcome with the want to get to know her. So a slow dance was a good enough start, right?

"Really?" she asked, her face lighting up. "I didn't think you'd be one to dance!"

"You're not the only one," he muttered under his breath as he led her onto the floor.

From what he could tell, slow dancing was easy enough. It was just holding the other person close and moving slowly on the spot. Haymitch wasn't expecting much, he was dancing with her mostly because she had looked so sad to hear such a pretty song and not have anyone to dance with. Her hand fitted perfectly with his. Their fingers linked together as Effie rested her hand on his shoulder – she was surprised at the warmth she could feel coming from his body. The feel of his hand running around her waist and pulling her closer to him almost made her jump. She wasn't expecting to feel like this - not with Haymitch Abernathy of all people. There was a warmth running through her body from where his body was touching hers, and still he was pulling her to him. Their bodies were pressed against one another, her head resting on his shoulder and his head leant against hers. They were practically strangers, but it didn't feel as if they were. She felt familiar to him, as if he had known her for years, not just hours. He felt warm with her in his arms.

The soft music eased them in a small circle where they stood, as if in a world entirely of their own.

"I'm glad I met you this evening, Miss Trinket," Haymitch whispered softly, bringing his lips close to her ear.

Effie felt his warm breath tickle her cooling skin and she suppressed a smile. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath. That's how she knew this meant nothing to him. Haymitch Abernathy was famous for his drinking, for not knowing his left from his right as soon as liquor touched his lips and for picking up Capitol women for the night. Rumour had it that he hadn't been able to settle down because his childhood sweetheart had died suddenly mere weeks after his victory, and Effie had no intention of letting herself fall into his trap.

Haymitch meant it. Sure, he had had a few flings with Capitol ladies – men gotta eat, right? – but this was different. He wanted to see Effie again. There was something about her that made him feel so at ease, so completed. And it had happened so suddenly. Maybe there was something there for them? He sure hoped so, as he held her in his arms, not wanting to let her go even after the song ended and a faster one began playing. The people around them began breaking apart and the sound swelled once more to a cheerful rumble. Haymitch hated it. And so, when she pulled away from their warm embrace, he didn't complain, but he just took her hand once more and held it. They stood for a moment in the middle of the dance floor, hand in hand, simply looking at one another. Haymitch tried to remember the way the dimming lights hit her small, curved nose, highlighting her pretty eyes. Effie tried to lock away in her mind the creases that appeared around his mouth as he smiled slightly. For that moment, no one else around them mattered.

It did not take long for their peace to be shattered. Behind Effie came a young man, around the same age as Effie, with striking black hair that was sleeked back and a sharp green suit. His gaze was hard as he saw Effie and Haymitch's hands entwined, the close proximity of their bodies and he stood still next to her for a moment, waiting to see if she would notice him on her own. She did not.

"Hello Effie," he said loudly over the music and jolly people that surrounded them.

Effie started at the sound of his voice, dropping Haymitch's hand like hot coal. "Seneca! What are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting in District One this weekend!"

"I came here to find you," he replied coolly. "But I didn't realise you had more pleasurable company."

Haymitch looked at the younger man who now had his arm placed firmly on the small of Effie's back. Already, he hated him. He looked somewhat familiar, but Haymitch couldn't quite place the face. He didn't care right now though; he belonged to Effie, clearly, and already that was enough to anger him.

"Haymitch, this is Seneca Crane," Effie said, looking flustered. "He's a junior Gamemaker, very lucky to have such an esteemed position at such a young age!"

The false tone that Haymitch was so used to from the Capitol people was creeping back into her voice. He felt uneasy suddenly, dirty, almost. Had she known that he was coming all along? Did she mean to enchant him only to fling him aside at the end of the evening just in time for the main event?

"And Seneca, this is Haymitch Abernathy, the-"

"Yes, darling, I know who he is," Seneca interrupted, throwing him an icy look. "Come on now, I have a few people I have to meet before we leave. Come along now, darling."

Haymitch felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach as he saw Seneca place a very deliberate kiss on her pale cheek that was still flushed from his touch. He stood alone on the dancefloor as Seneca Crane led Effie Trinket away through the crowd, and soon their figures had been swallowed by the throng, but not before Effie had thrown him a sad look over her shoulder – apologetic, longing.

But this couldn't be the end. He would not accept that he had merely one chance encounter with her. There had to be more to them. Crane was merely an obstacle.

Effie had been the only person who had lit the burning desire inside of him for human contact, for intimacy for decades. A chance encounter was all that it took for him to swear that he would see her again, no matter what the cost.

As Effie walked away, she felt a pang of guilt. She resented Seneca for treating her as he did – like a possession. He adored her, she knew that, but she needed more than that from him to make her still love him. Love. Did she love him? She thought she did. But if she did, why did she only think of Haymitch Abernathy's face as Seneca paraded her around the glorified figures of Panem?

**Plz review/subscribe, whatever floats your boat, so I can get an idea of whether to continue this!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So basically I wrote two completely different chapters for this - the first one I wrote was Effie visiting Haymitch in the Capitol before he left for Twelve again buuuut I didn't like how it turned out at all, so this is what I came up with second time round, hence why it took a little while to publish. Speaking of which, thanks to each and everyone one of you who has read this, subscribed to this or favourited, or reviewed - it really does mean more than I can say! **

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Haymitch didn't see Effie again. He left a few days after the party on a hovercraft that took him home with only a phone call from Chaff to send him on his way. He waited for a few days once he was back in his falling home in District 12 to see if she would call him, keeping himself propped up on a chair beside the phone, but no word came from the Capitol at all.

And so, soon enough, life went back to normal for him. He slept all day but was plagued with nightmares; during the long nights he drank every last drop his ragged body could take until the first light of dawn flickered through the dirty windows of the kitchen; the delivery from the Hob came just before he could drop off to sleep every morning and he would haul himself up to pay the supplier generously. The knife never left him.

And so when the 66th Hunger Games came around in the early summer, Effie Trinket was not someone that Haymitch expected to see. It was a hot, dusty day in the District and the sun beat down up the stage set up in the marketplace where two reaping balls sat, the focus of the entire town. People, merchant and Seam, were stood all around in a dark silence. Haymitch was slumped in his seat next to the mayor who was kind enough not to bother him when he was nursing such a painful hangover. They had exchanged word briefly inside the Justice Hall, away from the prying eyes of the Capitol cameras, where Haymitch had asked after Mayor Undersee's wife.

"She is not at her best," the mayor had replied, looking saddened. "This time of year is always hard for her."

Haymitch had nodded in reply, knowing words were not necessary. He knew the mayor understood the unspoken connection Haymitch held with Maysilee Donner's sister.

So when the new escort took to the stage, his mind wasn't really on who had taken the position. His head was throbbing in the midday sun and already he was aching for another drink. The cameras that lined the marketplace trailed through the crowd, up the stage steps and towards the old victor as the message from the Capitol that played every year was blasted around the District. Haymitch looked at the screen and felt the familiar anger within him begin to rise. It was their fault, all of it was. If it wasn't for the Capitol's oppression on the Districts the Dark Days never would have fallen across Panem, District Thirteen would not have been left in ruins, thousands, millions, of lives would have been spared and he, Haymitch, would not be sitting in this chair. He would have been sitting in his home, his wife by his side and their children chasing the cat around their legs with happiness the only thing on their mind. Instead, he was forced to watch two of his own go to their slaughter as if it were entertainment.

The only thing that consumed Haymitch on that stage in front of his Disrict, in front of the nation, was hatred for the people who put him there. His jaw was clenched and his hands had begun to shake when something crossed his mind. Something had just wafted past him - the smell of a warm place, a healthy place that belonged to a lost age. It was familiar. It was her.

"Hello Haymitch," Effie whispered as she took the empty seat behind him, laying a hand on his shaking wrist. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he replied gruffly. Already his mind had begun to whir. Had she taken the Escort job? Clearly she had, else why would she be here in the District, let alone on stage. What did this mean? Well clearly this meant a number of things. Firstly, she belonged to the Capitol, not Twelve, so she was not a woman to be trusted. Also, she obviously enjoyed the sport of the Games. Not a desirable quality at all. What about Seneca Crane? An issue of less importance right now. At that moment, he was confused. His agonising anger, his pounding head and her surprise arrival were all tangling up in his alcohol-influenced mind, all merging into one blurry picture making it difficult to tell whether it was the Capitol he hated or her.

He pulled his arm out of her grasp with an angry look. "Just get up there and do your job if that's what you're here for," he said angrily, loud enough for the front few rows to hear him. Effie looked taken aback – clearly this was not the welcome she was expecting.

She sat back in her seat and kept her hands folded neatly in her lap until the screening of the message she had brought with her had finished. Then, just as she had practiced, she stepped daintily towards the microphone and gave the dusty District her sunniest smile.

"Welcome, welcome! And happy Hunger Games!" she trilled, smiling from left to right, her heart pounding. Not a single person returned her smile. This wasn't how it looked when they showed the Reapings on television. No cheering, not shouting, no clapping. She was greeted with nothing but blank stares.

She cleared her throat and continued. "My name is Effie Trinket, and I shall be your new Capitol escort! I am so looking forwards to meeting and guiding the two brave tributes from this wonderful District to represent the coaling industry in the 66th Hunger Games! Now, for the reaping. Ladies first!"

The clatter of her heels as she tottered over the wooden floorboards rang out through the coal-worn streets like a drum roll, a drum roll stopped only when a girl's name had been chosen. There was a thick silence as Effie opened the piece of paper before the microphone.

"Bryony Rivers!"

The silence was broken by a single cry from the crowd – a cry that chilled Effie to the bone. In the masses of faces that stood before her, Effie saw one woman with her face covered by her hands, only her open mouth visible. From this open mouth had come a cry of terror, sorrow and utter despair. No doubt, this was the mother of Bryony Rivers.

"No , please!" the woman sobbed, her voice echoing off the shop fronts of the market place and down the streets and alleys of the town. "Please, not my child, anyone but her!"

Peacekeepers were on her before she could reach the young girl that was taking slow and steady steps towards the stage. She didn't seem to have heard her mother or notice her being dragged away, screaming, by the uniformed Peacekeepers; instead her eyes were focused on the stairs as she walked like a lost lamb towards Effie.

Haymitch saw Effie's face drain of colour underneath the inches of powder she wore as the woman's cries pierced her. Evidently that was not something that anyone had prepared her for and Haymitch was momentarily overwhelmed with the desire to put his arm around her shoulders and press her face into his body, shielding her from this world. But then he realised with a pang that she had chosen this for herself. This was of her own doing and this was her pain to bear.

Once little Bryony Rivers, who looked no more than twelve years old, had taken her place next to Effie, the escort, now with less eagerness than before, walked over to the other glass ball that held a few thousand names.

"And now the boys!" she called out cheerfully, pulling out a slip of paper. "Avis Woodville!"

A boy of around fourteen stepped forwards grimly. His black hair and grey eyes gave him away as a child of the Seam and Haymitch thought vaguely of how he had gone to school with Avis' mother many years ago. Through his blurry vision, he saw her in the crowd, stood near to the bakery with her younger children and husband who had to use crutches after a mining accident took away his leg. She had gathered her three younger children close to her as she watched her eldest take the stage, knowing that already it was over for Avis.

Effie fumbled about behind the podium she was using before taking the hand of each tribute and whisking them away into the Justice Building for their final goodbyes. Haymitch hauled himself out of his seat as the crowd began to disperse, thankful for another year safe from the Games, and followed them inside.

Effie was just showing each of them into their own rooms as Haymitch caught up with her.

"Hello Effie," he said casually, leaning against a pillar next to her for support. She stepped away from him and regarded him carefully.

"Hello Haymitch," she replied, holding his blurry gaze. "You look drunk."

"Hey, what happened to all your manners stuff?" he asked, taken aback. "I thought you liked your politeness and what not?"

"Perhaps if I had been greeted politely I would have returned the favour," she said icily, dropping her voice as a pair of Peacekeepers passed by.

"I'm sorry Effie," Haymitch replied, not looking sorry at all, "but it was just a shock to see you. I was surprised."

"Well I don't see why it should bother you, we are, after all, merely acquaintances," Effie said, dropping his gaze and fiddling with her lacy gloves. Haymitch stood still for a moment, letting her words sink in – it was still hard to process too much with the alcohol pumping through his veins. She acted as though they were just two people who had met and departed with few words said in between. But they were far more than that, and he knew she knew it.

So when she turned away to greet the families of the two tributes, he caught her arm and pulled her back to him. "We are far more than just acquaintances, and you damned well know that Effie Trinket. When you left without even a word of goodbye you were basically admitting to me that you felt what I did as I held you against me, but you were too afraid to admit it because it meant admitting you desired something you should have never wanted, and there is nothing you can do to change that!"

"Haymitch let go of me," she hissed, looking around her. "There are more important things going on here right now than your drunken ramblings!"

And without a backwards glance, she hopped towards the grief-stricken families with a smile plastered onto her face.

While she was showing them where to go, Haymitch stuffed pills into his mouth that helped to clear his head of the alcohol and the pain. He wanted nothing mingling with his mind when he next spoke to her. It didn't take long for her to have an idle minute as she waited for the tributes to say their final goodbyes, nor did it take long for Haymitch to join her where she sat on a wooden bench in the long corridor of rooms.

"I'm sorry if you took offence from my bluntness," Haymitch said, forcing himself not to grit his teeth as he said it. He wasn't sorry at all, but he had an inkling that she would refuse to speak to him unless he first apologised. He was right.

"Apology accepted," she said through tight lips. "I know reaping days must be hard for you."

"You have no idea."

There was a brief moment of silence during which Haymitch felt a hand rest on his own once more.

"You were right though," Effie said very quietly, looking at the floor. "That night all I could think of was you. Even when Seneca was talking to me, showing me this person and that – yours was the only face I wished I could have seen."

She found herself resting her head on his shoulder, her fingers caressing his.

"I wish you hadn't have gone," he replied quietly, inhaling that warm scent again that came from her. "That you could have stayed with me all night."

Effie wondered what he meant exactly by that. The implications behind the words sent a jolt to her stomach and she tightened her grip on his hand.

"I wish I could have too," she whispered, barely audible.

"What about Seneca?" Haymitch asked her, relishing the feeling of her warm body close to his.

She sighed and sat up straight once again. "About two months ago, I came home to find him in bed with two of his assistants. I've found him with women before, but this was just the last straw of many. So I asked him to move out – he's now living with his brother who is one of the senior Gamemakers – and we have hardly spoken since."

Anger ebbed within him again as he wondered why anyone would want to betray a woman such as Effie, but then reality hit him once more. This was only the second time he had met this woman, so such judgements were ungrounded. But still – he felt like he had known her all his life.

He was lost for words, and so they sat in peace until the families filtered back out of the rooms, guided by the officers in white, leaving their children pale-faced and terrified.

Effie stood up and smoothed her clothes down, calling out to the two tributes.

"Come along now, it's time to fetch the car for the station!" she said loudly and enthusiastically. "This is all very exciting, isn't it?" she said to them, looking happy again. "Oh no need to look so frightened, you've got an exhilarating week ahead! You'll have the tributes' parade, and then training and interviews, and oh! Wait until you see the apartment you'll be staying in, it's absolutely fabulous!"

She kept her arms around the shoulder of the children as she led them out to the car and ushered them in. Haymitch caught her arm just as she was about to step in herself.

"Wait a second, Effie," he ordered, face grim.

She shut the car door and turned to face him, looking a little wary. "What is it?"

He took in a deeo breath to steady himself. "You're awfully happy about the Hunger Games, aren't you?"

"Well yes, of course I-"

"Well don't be," he said shortly. "Because those kids know they're going to their deaths for your entertainment."

"Haymitch, it's not for my entertainment!" she protested, beginning to sound a little angry against his hardened defiance.

"Okay, then for the Capitol's entertainment, how's that?" he replied sarcastically, the pounding in his head returning.

"You know, the primary function of the Games is to remind the Districts of what they did to Panem all those years ago, and how they need to pay for their crimes! It is part of the healing process we must go through as a nation, together!" she burst out hotly, throwing off the hand that had been holding her shoulder.

"That's crap Effie, and you know it," Haymitch spat furiously, his body leaning towards hers. "It's for damn entertainment that those kids will lose their lives; entertainment and so Snow can let the rest of us know how quickly he can destroy all we hold dear!"

"Those are treasonous words Haymitch, be careful who you repeat those to," Effie hissed, glaring up at his face that was now mere inches from hers.

His eyes darted from hers to her lips. Those soft lips, how sweet they would be against his own, how they would feel against his skin, his worn body…

"Madam Escort, Mr Abernathy, will you be wanting this car ride to the station?" a Peacekeeper asked, rolling down the car window.

"Yes, of course," Effie replied, stepping back from Haymitch and clasping her hands behind her back. As he passed her, she felt his fingertips trace across her back and down one arm and as he stepped into the car, he glanced at her. She was yet to figure out if she was going to hate him or fall in love with him.

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**Please leave me a little review, even if it just a few words, to let me know if you liked this chapter/what you hope for future chapters - I also welcome criticism, without which it is impossible to improve! P.s. have a lovely day/night :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to all of those who have reviewed, favourited or subscribed - you are all faaaaantastic! Also, the review you left were helpful, I've taken them into mind when writing this chapter! Hope you enjoy. **

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The tributes were quiet this year. Haymitch noticed especially the girl's shyness. She hardly spoke during her days in training, keeping mostly to the survival stations, or so she told him when he was sober enough to ask. The boy was a little more optimistic, trying his hand at sword work and archery. Neither of them pulled high marks though – the boy was awarded a six after his sword skills were deemed good by the Gamemakers but the girl was given only a three after all she managed to do was tie a few basic knots.

Effie enjoyed her time with the tributes – they were both polite and willing to learn, but there was a distance in their eyes that she couldn't explain. While they were with their stylists, preparing for their interviews, she confronted Haymitch in the dining room.

"What's wrong with them, Haymitch?" she asked, taking the glass from his fingers and setting it on the glass table, gesturing to one of the Avoxes to take it away. "They seem awfully withdrawn. Are they sick?"

"What do you mean?" he replied groggily, watching the glass being taken away with a miserable gaze.

"Haymitch, look at me as I talk to you, please. It's good manners, you know."

"Of course, sweetheart," he sighed, turning to look at her. Her face was a good few inches closer to his than he had expected and he felt his stomach jolt. Thus far, she had kept her distance from him – she had stayed professional, focused and detached – but now they were alone for the first time since Reaping Day and she was close to him. She was very close. He could just make out, under the inches of power on her face, the freckles dotted across her nose and he was struck momentarily by the wonder as to how they got there if she always wore so much powder. When did she ever go out in the sun without it?

"Haymitch, why are they so… distant?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting together.

He swallowed, feeling uneasy. Was she really so ignorant to the reality of the Games? "They're scared. They know they're going to die," he explained.

"But they still have a chance!" she half-laughed, smiling up into his grey eyes.

Shaking his head, he put his hands onto her shoulders. "No, they don't. Can you remember the last time someone from my District won the Games?"

"Well you did, not that long ago. Why shouldn't they?" she protested, reaching up and grabbing his arms. "Haymitch, don't give up on them before they've had a chance to prove themselves!"

"They tried proving themselves already, Effie. It was no good. All we can do is help them survive for as long as they can now."

He turned away, not wanting to see her sadness. The previous escort hadn't minded too much before he had been promoted seeing all of the children die and he hadn't lasted long in Twelve anyway. Haymitch remembered his own escort being aloof, but she did all she could to keep him alive and evidently she had done a good job, but she remained detached at all times. Effie was so different to any other Capitol citizen he had met thus far regarding his children of poverty and neglect. It was clear that she was genuinely distressed at the thought of them being slaughtered so easily and Haymitch wondered how she had spent years watching the Games without being hit by such a thought. But maybe now that she was so directly involved, she cared more – for the sake of the kids, as well as her own reputation.

"But there's still hope. Isn't there, Haymitch?" she asked his turned back, her voice wavering.

He couldn't bear to face her with his words. "No, there's not, sweetheart," he said over his shoulder, and left her standing alone in the dining room. A single tear slid down her cheek, cutting through her powder, revealing more freckles dotted on her skin, but there was no one left to see them anymore.

The time was coming to go downstairs for the tributes' interviews and so she returned to her room quickly, wiping away her tear as she passed Haymitch's room, the door of which was open. He was sat on his bed as she walked by and he saw her with her hand pressed against her mouth, feeling a pang as she did so. Her door slammed shut and Haymitch was left with a want, a yearning, to go to her. Knowing how much manners meant to her, he pulled on the finest jacket he could find in his wardrobe and tied his cravat as neatly as his shaking hands could manage. Standing in front of the looking-glass, his reflection looked back grimly. Well, he wasn't the looker he had been ten years ago, but there was still something attractive in his strong jawline, his piercing grey eyes and strong shoulders. He nodded to the mirror – he had looked worse, at least.

He walked casually out of his room and the few steps down the hall to her door. It was still shut tight, and so he knocked thrice on the dark wood. There was no reply, but it was unlocked, so he turned the handle and let it swing open. Before him was a room identical to his, only this one was much tidier and had that warm fragrance to it that she had been wearing at the Reaping. The door to the bathroom was shut, and from it he could hear a faint noise. As he moved closer, he could make out a tune, and then words. She was singing something in a language he could not understand, and he paused a moment to listen. She didn't have the finest voice, but it was pleasant to listen to. He wouldn't mind hearing it more often, if he was perfectly honest. In fact, he was so absorbed in her singing that he had leant so close to the door his ear was all but pressed against it, so when it was flung open he jumped back so far he almost toppled over.

"Haymitch!" Effie yelped, pulling her dressing gown tightly round her. "What are you doing?"

"I just came to see if you were alright!" he said hastily, holding his hands up and stepping back. He looked her up and down and noticed she was wearing nothing but her rode. No wig, no make-up, no five-inch heels. This was Effie like Haymitch had never seen her before.

Her skin was pale and covered in small freckles, her hair a light blonde that caught the dim light of the bathroom behind her. Her blue eyes were sparkling from the shower, the tears, Haymitch didn't know what

"Haymitch, please stop staring at me," she said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, looking away awkwardly. "But just know you look better without all that fashion stuff. I want to remember you like this, is all."

"Thank you… I think," she replied shyly.

Haymitch cleared his throat loudly and shifted uncomfortably where he stood for a moment. "Well, so long as you are okay," he said after an awkward pause and strode out of the room. Just as he was closing the door behind him, she called him.

"Haymitch?"

"Yes?" he replied, sticking his head back around the door. She was standing in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

Her voice cracked. "For that. It's been a while since someone told me anything like that."

In a heartbeat, Haymitch flung the door open wide and strode into the room once more, pulling her into a tight embrace. His arms held her tight to his body and she buried her face into his jacket, feeling her knees go weak. Her arms were trapped by their embrace and she pulled back just enough to free them, lifting them to his neck, his face, his hair.

He looked down into her eyes and had the overwhelming sense that this is where he belonged – with her, in this moment, holding her body against his own tightly and letting his fingers slide into her long hair.

"Kiss me Haymitch," she whispered. "Kiss me the way you wanted to the night we met."

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that," he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. His fingers traced her jawline and slid to the sides of her neck as she titled her lips towards him. He took in a breath and already he could taste her. The warm smell that he was becoming accustomed to lingered in their air as her hands slid into his jacket and around his waist. His mouth ached for hers.

And as his lips pressed against hers at last, she felt everything else slip away. Her fear, her anxiety, her loneliness – gone. Haymitch was here and he was all that mattered, his hot mouth easing hers open, his hands stroking her hair, her back, her waist. His tongue teased hers and she felt a rising desire deep within. Sparks were exploding under her eyelids as she felt his fiery kiss trail along her cheek and down her neck, stopping here and there to suck at her soft skin. Her quiet moans sent jolts through his body, pushing him forwards as one thought took over his mind and body – he wanted to be with her, to please her, to make sure she felt this loved every single day.

"Haymitch," she groaned as his head trailed down to her chest, "Haymitch, make love to me, please."

Those words brought him up to face her once more. Her eyes were darkened with desire and he took her face into his hands. "Are you sure?" he whispered, feeling that same desire course through his veins. He wanted her more than he had wanted anyone else.

She nodded. Their lips met once more and she held him tight to her as she backed towards the bed, pushing his jacket from his strong shoulders as she did so.

An hour later, they laid in the huge bed together. His arm was flung out across the pillow, her head resting on it so she could face him. Her fingers were tracing lightly over his bare chest, feeling the soft, dark hair that grew there. He was watching her face intently, looking for any signs of regret or embarrassment, but there were none. She looked content, happy, as she lazed against his body, and when her eyes met his, she smiled.

"What is it, Haymitch?" she asked him. "You're just staring at me."

He half-laughed. "I can't help it. I've just never seen you look so beautiful."

"Stop, you're making me blush," she protested gently, putting a hand on her cheek so as to hide the rising colour there.

"No, don't," he whispered, pulling her hand away and linking her fingers with his. "I like seeing you like this. Without all of your Capitol stuff. You're a very beautiful woman, Effie, just the way you are."

She opened her mouth to reply, but there was a sharp tap on the door. She looked to Haymitch who looked just as surprised as she did. They weren't expecting anyone for a long time yet – it would be at least another hour until their tributes were ready to go down for the interviews.

The knock came again, and Effie darted out of bed, hastily pulled on her robe and opened the door a crack, enough to see out but not enough to show Haymitch still sprawled under the covers. An Avox greeted her with nothing but a phone on a tray. She took it and the Avox disappeared again.

"Hello?" she said nervously into the phone.

"Effie, darling!" exclaimed a familiar voice. "It's Prya! Oh darling, I have the most exciting news!"

Haymitch pulled himself up against the pillows and held out his arm to Effie as she walked slowly back to the bed, distracted already by her friend on the phone. He wondered briefly what they were talking about, but after a little while he realised he didn't really mind – she was resting in his arms at last, her cheeks still flushed from his touch, his words, what more could he ask for? And for the first time in what felt like a thousand lifetimes, he felt not only happy, but also content.

Here she was, the woman he had thought about for six months after less than six hours with her, the woman he had longed to hold since he first laid eyes on her, the woman who had been painfully distant during their days together and now, here she was. He felt a warmth through his body that had never been there before and yet he knew it was because of her.

In this hellhole of a life he had been so accustomed to enduring, came this miracle of a person who he scarcely knew but could no longer bear to be without. In this, his living Hell, he had found a shelter in her.

But there was a thought, a dark, twisted thought, at the very root of his mind that knew it was only a matter of time before the Capitol tore down this shelter, too.

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**Sorry for the cheesiness of this, I hope it wasn't too ghastly for your tastes! **

**Also on a side note, I start back at college tomorrow for my last year of A Levels so life is going to get pretty hectic and the updates for this will probably be much farther apart, for which I apologise profusely. **

**Your support for this fic is still pretty overwhelming, my eternal gratitude goes out to each and every one of you.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all so much for your support of this fic! It really does mean more to me than I can say :')**

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Effie and Haymitch had been moved from the Training Centre for the beginning of the Games, as each mentor and escort was just before the Games began. It was here. It was time for the annual Hunger Games to begin.

"Five… Four… Three… Two… One…"

Effie and Haymitch stood in front of a large television screen, eyes on their tributes. Bryony looked so small stood on her platform in the middle of the abandoned city square. The Cornucopia was in the centre of the square that was lined with the twenty-four tributes in a circle, the ruins of old shops and office buildings surrounding them. Avis was posed on his platform ready to run straight for the horn, his eyes on a sword that was in the middle of the pile of weaponry.

"Don't be an idiot," Haymitch muttered under his breath. "Just grab something from the outer circle and run."

Too late. He ran straight towards the Cornucopia, a determined look on his face. He had almost reached the sword when an axe made contact with his neck. His head flew through the air for a moment before his body thudded to the ground, slumping over the sword he had been so determined to take. His killer, a brutish boy from Two, grinned as the decapitated body before kicking it away with his boot and taking the sword in his free hand.

"Oh no," Effie whimpered, raising a hand to her mouth. She felt physically nauseated as she watched the other Tributes kick his head and body out of their way.

"C'mon Bryony," Haymitch growled, pulling her attention to the little girl who was still frozen on her platform. "Get running, sweetheart!"

Effie felt ice run through her and she was stuck solid. Her limbs had turned to lead and the room in front of her seemed a million miles away.

Haymitch didn't notice Effie's rapid breaths next to him; he was totally fixated on the little girl on the screen. A tall girl from District Five was running at her with a spear in her hand, a rucksack on her back. The spear made a mark between Bryony's eyes, and the screen went blank.

So that was that. The Hunger Games over for another year.

Haymitch swore loudly and kicked the table beside him. The glass surface shattered, as did the wooden legs holding it up. Effie didn't even flinch when he flung his scotch at the wall, sending shards of crystal into the air. He didn't flinch as he roared in anger, as he bellowed in pain, as he slammed his fists against the walls and pulled at his hair, clumps coming out all at once.

She saw the spear go into Bryony again and again before her eyes; Avis' head fly through the air. Haymitch only saw her in the corner of his eye as she threw up her breakfast over the cream carpet that was already stained with his drink and spots of blood. He didn't register it for a few hours either.

With nothing left to do for him until the rounds of parties after the Games, Haymitch fell into drink. Day in, day night, he was intoxicated. His night with Effie mingled with the Games, with the deaths of the children, with his hatred for the Capitol, until they all merged into one memory.

Effie was ill for a few days. They had to call out a doctor to her where she stayed in the Training Centre, and the doctor just said she needed bed rest. Apparently the "excitement and strain of her first Games" was overwhelming. Nothing about the reality of seeing two children she had grown to be fond of die. And she couldn't help but think, as she lay rigidly in her cold bed, could she have done more? If she had done more for them, maybe told them about potential sponsors, warned them against going straight to the Cornucopia, _something,_ they would still be alive?

Emptiness. That's all she felt for the next few days. No pain, no guilt. Just an abyss of nothing. A raw absence of everything. She noticed Haymitch's hollers occasionally as he terrorised the Avoxes for drink, registered that she wasn't alone in this. But he didn't come in to see her once. So maybe she was alone in this.

Nothing pulled her out until the third day after the opening morning. There was a knock at the door, and someone walked in. Effie stared at the ceiling, feeling nothing. Someone was in her room, and she really should care that she hadn't got a dress on, or any make-up, or a wig. She had showered, yes, but that was only because an Avox had guided her through the motions. But she didn't. She didn't care who it was, either. Whoever it was wasn't going to convince her that she had played no part in her district's children's deaths. And so she just ignored this intruder.

"I always did prefer you in bed," came a silky voice, penetrating her haze of numbness. Something inside of her stirred at that voice. But it wasn't enough to pull her back into reality.

"You look beautiful, by the way."

Effie felt her throat close up as he yanked her back to the present. The images of Avis' rolling head faded back into the ceiling that she had been gazing towards. In the corner of her eye, she saw something red – a dark-haired man with a crimson suit stood next to her bed, hands clasped behind his back.

Her eyes roamed towards him, and eventually, her head moved. Seneca.

"Seneca," she croaked. Her throat hurt as she used her voice for the first time in a few days. "What are you..?"

"Word has it that you're sick," Seneca said gently, perching on the edge of the bed. "I wanted to come and make sure that you're okay."

Effie felt her body relax. Sure, she and Seneca had not seen each other in months – they had parted on less than friendly terms, after all – but they had been friends long before they had been lovers. Any anger she had with him was all but gone, and right now, she needed a friend.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, looking into his bright blue eyes and he knew in that moment that everything was not okay.

"Effie. It's me. You can tell me anything."

Slowly, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Her back leant against the headboard and she crossed her legs, holding out a hand towards him. He pulled himself onto the bed next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her tight.

"Now. You want to tell me?" he asked quietly.

Of course she did. She needed someone to talk to. The problem was, the only person she _really_ wanted right now was a man who was blind drunk, passed out next door. The man who was with her now had cheated on her, repeatedly. But aside from that, was he so bad? He had always treated her with respect, never pushed her for anything, and remembered the little things that had made her so happy. But still. He probably did all of those things out of guilt. But that was months ago. And it was still him. This was still Seneca. Her first great love. Her friend. She could trust him. And if she held everything in any longer, she was sure she'd just collapse entirely.

And so, after taking a few steadying breaths, she told him.

She told him how guilty she felt for not doing enough for her tributes, how awful it was seeing the children die after getting to know them, how painful it was to know that she'd never get the chance to apologise to them for not saving them, and how heart-breaking it will be to see District Twelve next year.

He listened without saying a word as she cried into his shoulder, rubbed her back and stroked her hair. He waited until her tears had subsided, just holding her, before he spoke.

"Effie, darling, this isn't your fault," he said gently, putting a finger under her chin and lifting her face so she was looking him in the eye. "This is just the way it has to be. It's for the good of the country, and you are helping your country by being such a crucial part. Don't blame yourself, Effie."

"It just feels so lonely at the moment," she whispered, her voice cracking as a fresh tear fell down her cheek.

"You know you always have me, darling," Seneca said quietly, pulling her closer. His forehead rested against her temple. "No matter what."

Effie was lonely. She was scared. She was angry. She wanted Haymitch so badly it almost hurt. And so when Seneca began kissing her cheek, letting his lips trace across to her mouth, she didn't fight it. She let the tears flow freely as his mouth pressed against hers. It didn't matter that it was Seneca kissing her. All she could see, all she could taste, was Haymitch.

Neither of them heard the door creak open, neither of them saw a man stagger in and stand there for a moment, staring at the couple that was in a tight embrace. They both heard his roar though.

"WHAT IS THIS?" he bellowed, his face reddened and twisted with rage as he saw Effie – his Effie – in the arms of her former lover.

They sprang apart and Effie darted to Haymitch's side. "Haymitch, please, it's not what it looks like!"

"THE HELL IT IS!" he screeched, pushing her away from him furiously. She stumbled backwards and fell onto the bed, her hand outstretched towards him.

"Look here Abernathy-" Seneca started angrily, striding towards him.

Haymitch effectively silenced him with a fist to his face. "You dare come in here," he snarled over Seneca where he was lying on the floor, tenderly touching his nose that was now leaking blood. "You dare treat this woman as you did, casting her aside for your series of whores, and then you come in here and do this? You sicken me."

"Haymitch, please-" Effie started, tears falling freely down her face, her whole body shaking.

"Don't even bother, Effie!" he shouted, throwing his glass against the wall, where it smashed into a thousand shards. "And you!" he added, seeing Seneca get back onto his feet. "You leave NOW!"

Seneca threw Effie an apologetic look before leaving. Effie didn't even see him leave. Her eyes were fixed on Haymitch who was now pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Haymitch-" she began.

"Don't!" he spat, not even looking at her. "Don't even say a word!"

"You have to let me explain!" she cried, standing up and putting herself in his path. His face was contorted with anger, pain, despair.

"Why?" he asked furiously. "What's the point?"

"I only did it because I was lonely!" she cried. "I was scared and lonely and needed someone, and he was there all of a sudden!"

"Lonely?" he shouted angrily. "Lonely? I was here, I AM here! In the very next room!"

"Yes, up to your eyeballs in drink!" she cried, throwing her hands up and walking away from him. "I needed you but all you wanted was to pour liquor down your throat!"

Her hand was on the doorknob when she felt a hand on her waist. She tried to push it away, but another hand skimmed across her body.

"Don't leave," Haymitch said quietly, pressing his body against hers and pulling her tight to him. "Please."

She leant back against him. Her arms reached up behind her, hands weaving into his hair as his lips moved to her neck.

"Wait," she said suddenly, her eyes flying open.

"Yes?" he mumbled against her skin.

"No," she said, pulling away from him. "We can't just act like this didn't just happen."

He sighed, sounding annoyed, and stepped back from her, holding open his arms expectantly. "Go on then. Talk."

"Look, Haymitch, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. I mean, one minute he was here, just listening to me talk, and the next he was kissing me, and then you were here and…"

"Okay. He was kissing you. Why were you kissing him back? Do you still have feelings for him?"

"No," she said quickly. "Not at all. It ended months ago."

"Then why didn't you stop him?" Haymitch asked coldly, an eyebrow raised.

Effie stood uncomfortably for a moment, avoiding his gaze. "Because I just wanted someone."

"Anyone?" he pressed. "Is that all it was the other night? You just wanted 'someone'?"

"No! I wanted you. I still do. And that's what I mean. I didn't want just someone, I wanted you. But you weren't there. When he kissed me, all I saw was you."

"Then Effie, why didn't you just come and find me?" he asked despairingly. "I would be there for you at any time, I thought you'd know that."

"I was scared," she said quietly.

Haymitch felt a pang in his stomach. He frightened her. "Scared of me?"

"Scared you wouldn't want me there."

He walked slowly back towards her where she stood looking very small. Her nightdress was thin and she looked a little cold, the way her arms were wrapped so tightly around herself. Or scared. Or lonely. Or guilty. Or any number of things.

"I will always want you," he said softly, pulling her into his arms. Where she belonged. "You just have to talk to me. I know we're at the start, but I want to be with you for a long time. And we just got to talk to each other."

She nodded against his shirt, smelling the alcohol in it.

"Can I ask you one thing?" Haymitch asked after a moment's pause.

"Of course," Effie murmured, pulling up her head and meeting his gaze.

"Please don't kiss any other men," he said, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.

She reached up and kissed his lips quickly. "Okay. And the same goes for you."

Haymitch licked his lips and frowned. He dropped his hold on her and stepped back.

"Haymitch, what's wrong?" she asked, putting her hand against his check. He turned away from her touch and shook his head.

"Haymitch, you're the one who just said that we need to talk to each other," she said to his turned back.

"It's just, you taste different. He's on you. I can sense him on you," he said, shaking his head and looking at the floor.

Effie's stomach dropped. "Just give it a few days," she said in what she hoped was a light tone. "It won't be like that."

"I just don't think I can look at you right now," he said after a moment's pause.

"Haymitch!" Effie protested as he left the room. "Haymitch, please!"

Well, that turned around quickly. One moment he was furious, the next, loving, and the very next he was walking away from her. Was it the alcohol? Was it the fate of the tributes mixed with her chance counter with Seneca, mixed with his fury at the Capitol?

She didn't know. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was what she stood for. Maybe it was him, and everything he had been through. She didn't know. All she knew was that she didn't want to ever have to see him walk away from her again. She knew that she couldn't take it.

She crawled back into bed, letting the emptiness swallow her up again, and remained like that for hours. Sleep evaded her that night. Haymitch's room was quiet for the first time since they had arrived and at around midnight, she hauled herself out of bed. She padded to the bathroom and splashed her face, looking at her reflection for the first time in days. There were dark cricles under her eyes and scratched down her face from where her nails had dug into her skin without her even realising. Hair stuck up at all angles, and her skin had an unhealthy shine to it. She looked a mess.

She turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the warm water and fragrant soaps soak her entirely until every inch of her was washed clean. Her hair was dried straight and glossy by the machine next to the shower and her skin was soft and smooth once more. Back in her room, she pulled on her silk nightdress and matching rode, pulling it tight around her and opened her door slowly. She glanced up and down the corridor, but there was no one around at this time. She darted out of her room and across to Haymitch's door. Slowly she turned the knob and let herself in.

He was leaning against the headboard, his eyes closed and hands holding open a book. The lights were on dimly, casting shadows across his half-naked body. Effie bit her lip at the sight of him lying chest-bare on his large bed. He was all she ever wanted.

She walked slowly around to him and set his book aside, making sure she kept his page number marked. She undid her robe and sat gently next to him.

"Hey," she whispered, trailing her finger along the inside of his arm. His eyes fluttered open and he caught sight of her. She was more beautiful now, in her simple nightclothes with no make-up on, no wig, than he had ever seen anyone.

"Hey yourself," he murmured.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am," he whispered with a slight smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" she asked, suddenly worried that he really didn't want her.

"No, not at all." He shivered as her fingers traced the palm of his hand, as her tongue traced her lips slightly and her face moved closer to his.

He raised his hand to her neck and his fingers wove into her hair, pulling her head down to his. Their lips met in a kiss that Haymitch had no intention of stopping. Her legs swung over him and she was straddling, weaving her hands into his hair, relishing the feeling of his lips against hers, pressing against her cheek, her neck, her chest. His hands were soft on her body, pushing her clothes from her shoulders and his sighs sent butterflies to her stomach.

And so, that night, they made love. They forgot the days that had gone by and the days yet to come. All they could think of, in this moment, was each other. Because right now, nothing else mattered.

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**WAH sorry if this wasn't as good as my other chapters, my brain sort of just exploded on the page (plus this is the busiest six weeks of my life right now, so just bear with me until it's over). Hopefully the next chapter will be better! Again, thank you all for your support of this fic, it is much appreciated! **


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